


Paris

by katalizi



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Philinda - Freeform, philinda bad days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:40:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4608849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katalizi/pseuds/katalizi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Philinda Bad Days. Prompt - Phil gets stabbed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paris

Phil Coulson gritted his teeth as he hobbled out of the tiny, dusty apartments and onto the bright and bustling streets of summertime Paris, trying with all his might to ignore the hooting laughter of Isabelle Hartley as she followed along behind him.

“Yeah, we’re out. Got the package, too, so it’s all a nicely done job, really,” she was saying into her comms around bouts of giggles, shoving a mystery package into a backpack before slinging it over her shoulder.

“Except the part where you let the perp escape out the back entrance,” interjected Agent Hand, a touch of annoyance in her voice.

“Aw, co’mon Vic, I know you and May had the backdoor covered and were both itching for a little action. Coulson, on the other hand, looks as though he’s regretting getting out of bed this morning.”

Phil shot Hartley a scathing look as he propped himself up against the nearest wall, one hand covering the small but stinging puncture wound that was now leaving an oozing wet patch on his thigh. Hartley just gave him a shit-eating grin in return.

“What do you mean?” came May’s voice across the comm. “What’s with the giggle fit?”

“I think Agent Coulson might be the first S.H.I.E.L.D. agent to be bettered by a ninety-two year old grandma,” chuckled Hartley as she walked up to Phil’s side and wrapped an arm around his waist, hoisting him upright before walking off down the road as if they hadn’t a care in the world. “Hold on, old man, and let’s make believe we’re just a couple of lovers out for a stroll.”

“Did … did you just call me _old_?”

“Older than me, babe,” she said, before going back to the comm. “Vic? May? You two ready for a pick up?”

“Already here,” came Hand’s voice, just as a large, dark van pulled up beside them with Hand in the driver’s seat and the passenger door opening to reveal Agent May. She looked over the pair and then came right up to Phil’s other side, taking his weight away from Hartley. But not before Phil saw her lips twitch in a barely concealed smile. He was mortified. Stabbed by a granny with a pair of scissors on his second mission. He’d never live this down.

“The package?” she asked, eying the backpack. Hartley nodded. “Good. Suspect’s in the back. Base wants you and Hand to deliver both.”

“And what about the walking wounded?”

This wasn’t helping his embarrassment. “I’m standing right here!”

May shrugged, curling a hand around Phil’s waist and bringing his arm up over her shoulder, linking their two hands together in an overly familiar way. Somehow, having to rely on this tiny woman just made Phil’s humiliation all the more complete. Somewhere in the back of his mind a calm, sane voice was pointing out that he’d never had a problem with Melinda taking charge before, but pain and indignity blotted reason out. “I’ll take him back to the surveillance apartment on the other side of the road, fix him up, pack up our gear, and we’ll all meet at the Quinjet at seventeen-hundred, okay?”

“A madam with a plan,” grinned Hartley. “I like it. See you at seventeen-hundred.” And with that she swung herself into the van and was gone.

“Wow,” said Phil, threads of anger now appearing in his voice. “I really can’t remember the last time people spoke over my head like that. I hate it.”

“Did you say something?” asked May drily, and Phil had to bite down hard on his tongue before he said something he’d regret. With precise efficiency Melinda got them across the busy street, up the narrow, rickety stairs and back into the apartment they had been using to keep watch on the building across the street. The small studio apartment had been transferred into a temporary S.H.I.E.L.D. base, with cameras and computers jarring against the quaint Parisian setting. Once they were inside Phil wretched his hand out of Melinda’s and hobbled over to the kitchen, rattling around in cupboards looking for the First Aid kit with more force than necessary, his face set an a nasty scowl. After he retrieved the bag he limped to the bed, dropping down heavily, and started ripping into the innards of the kit, flinging supplies across the quilt.

Melinda watched with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you need help with that?”

“No, I really don’t,” he answered tightly, shifting through the mess on the bed. “You just pack up.”

“You don’t give me orders, _Agent_ Coulson,” she said angrily.

“Well, it’s something that needs to be done, and you’re the only one who can do it,” he said as he found a pair of surgical scissors and started hacking away the material of his ruined trousers, until he suddenly became uncomfortably aware of Melinda’s hard stare. He looked up at her for the first time. “What?” he snapped.

Melinda had her arms folded, her face set and her eyes ablaze. “Don’t you _dare_ speak to me that way. Don’t you dare throw all this rubbish at me just because _your_ pride’s hurt,” she snapped back, and instantly Phil felt a wave of shame wash over him, his anger shrivelling up inside him and vanishing. Rage is a wonderful fuel, but the moment it leaves a horrid, black coldness is all that’s left in its place. Phil suddenly became acutely aware of how petty and childish he’d been.

“Melinda, I …”

“Shut up.” She turned her back on him and started packing away the equipment, and although he could clearly see the tight lines of anger in her shoulders and spine, she handled everything with care and gently cleaned up the room. Phil turned to look at the mess he’d made, having disembowelled the FA kit, and felt another rush of shame come upon him. He opened his mouth a few more times, but there was no coherent thought behind that to form words, so eventually he just focused on his wound, cleaning and stitching.

Melinda had the room cleared in no time, and while Phil stitched she leant against the window frame and looked down on the bustling street below them. Without warning, she spoke.

“There’s over two million people in Paris,” she said, never drawing her eyes from the scene below. “Today we prevented a dangerous biological weapon from disappearing into the blackmarket and by doing that, we may have just saved those two million people from a sudden and painful death.” She turned to Phil, her expression hard. “And you’re all stroppy because you underestimated a little old woman.”

Phil couldn’t meet her eyes and soon dropped his gaze, snipping off the final thread that kept his skin together. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “And you were right. My pride was hurt. More than my pride …” He sighed and forced himself to look at her. “You said it yourself. Two million people nearly died because I didn’t assess the risks properly. Because I was too slow, too stupid, too …” He shook his head. “I’m angry, but I’m angry at myself, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” agreed Melinda. But then her expression softened. “But thank you for apologising.”

Phil tried to smile, but failed. “I should be doing more than apologising, I should be thanking you. If you and Hand hadn’t been covering the back, the whole thing could’ve been a disaster.”

“And that’s why we work as a team, Phil, not just one man out to save us all,” she said, and although her tone was gentle Phil didn’t miss that subtle hint she was giving him there. He ducked his head and turned to the mess he’d made, apologetically packing up the FA kit as Melinda drew out her phone and quickly touched in with Base. Once it was all neat again he made to stand, quickly catching the fresh pair of trousers Melinda threw at him. “Get changed. We’re to leave the place as it is, sweepers are coming by soon, and we’re to get to the rendezvous point via public transport.”

Phil winced. “They know I’ve been stabbed in the leg, right?”

For the first time a look of sympathy came across Melinda’s face. “I think that’s why they’re making us walk.”

Phil groaned as he changed. “This is a terrible second mission.”

“Not in my case,” said Melinda, brightening. “Seeing as how I’m not freezing cold or soaking wet, I’d say this is a major step up.”

“I found you, in the end,” said Phil. “Besides, you didn’t get a scar from that.”

“The mental scars will last forever.”

As soon as he was ready the two of them shuffled out of the apartment and back onto the Parisian streets, Melinda’s arm back around Phil’s waist and his draped over her shoulder just like before, but with the stiffness and resentment now replaced with with friendly companionship.

“So we’ll play it off like we’re just a couple of lovers just enjoying the romantic place in the world,” murmured Melinda as she settled in by his side.

For the first time a small smile appeared on Phil’s face. “I can work with that.”


End file.
